And drudg'd as vulgar Needles do,
Of no more confequence than you.”

FABLE

XVII.

THE SHEPHERD'S DOG AND THE WOLF.

A

WOLF, with hunger fierce and bold,

Ravag'd the plains, and thinn'd the fold;

Deep in the wood fecure he lay,

The thefts of night regal'd the day.

In vain the shepherd's wakeful care

Had fpread the toils, and watch'd the snare;.
In vain the Dog purfued his pace,

The fleeter robber mock'd the chace.

As Lightfoot rang'd the foreft round,
By chance his foe's retreat he found.
Let us a while the war fufpend,
And reafon as from friend to friend.

"A truce?" replies the Wolf. 'Tis done. The Dog the parley thus begun.

"How can that strong intrepid mind

Attack a weak defencelefs kind?

Those jaws should prey on nobler food,
And drink the boar's and lion's blood..

Great fouls with generous pity melt,
Which coward tyrants never felt.
How harmless is our fleecy care!
Be brave, and let thy mercy fpare."

"Friend, fays the Wolf, the matter weigh;

Nature defign'd us beafts of prey;

As fuch, when hunger finds a treat,
'Tis neceffary wolves should eat.
If, mindful of the bleating weal,
Thy bofom burn with real zeal,
Hence, and thy tyrant lord beseech
To him repeat the moving speech:
A Wolf eats sheep but now and then,
Ten thousands are devour'd by men.

An

open foe may prove a curse,

But a pretended friend is worse."

FABLE

XVIII.

THE PAINTER WHO PLEASED NOBODY
零 AND EVERY BODY.

LEST men fuspect your tale untrue,

Keep probability in view.

The traveller leaping o'er thofe bounds,.
The credit of his book confounds.

Who with his tongue hath armies routed,
Makes ev'n his real courage doubted.
But flattery never feems abfurd;

The flatter'd always take your word:
Impoffibilities feem juft;

They take the strongest praife on truft..
Hyperboles, though ne'er fo great,
Will ftill come fhort of felf-conceit.
very like a Painter drew,
That every eye the picture knew;

So

25

He

He hit complexion, feature, air,
So juft, the life itself was there.
No flattery with his colours laid,
To bloom reftor'd the faded maid';
He
gave
each muscle all its ftrength;
The mouth, the chin, the nofe's length;
His honeft pencil touch'd with truth,
And mark'd the date of age and youth.
He loft his friends, His practice fail'd ;
Truth fhould not always be reveal'd:
In dufty piles his pictures lay,
For no one fent the second pay.
Two buftos, fraught with every grace,
A Venus' and Apollo's face,
He plac'd in view; refolv'd to please,
Whoever fat he drew from thefe,
From thefe corrected every feature,

20

25

30

And fpirited each aukward creature.

All things were fet; the hour was come,

His palette ready o'er his thumb.

My Lord appear'd; and, feated right,

35

In proper attitude and light,

The Painter look'd, he sketch'd the piece,.
Then dipt his pencil, talk'd of Greece,.

Of Titian's tints, of Guido's air;

Thofe eyes, my Lord, the spirit there

40

Might well a Raphael's hand require,

To give them all the native fire;

The features, fraught with fense and wit,
You'll grant, are very hard to hit ;

But

But yet with patience you shall view

As much as paint and art can do.”

Obferve the work. My Lord replied,

"Till now I thought my mouth was wide; Befides, my nofe is fomewhat long;

45

Dear Sir, for me, 'tis far too young."

50

"Oh! pardon me, the artift cry'd;

In this, we Painters must decide.

The piece ev'n common eyes must strike,
I warrant it extremely like."
My Lord examin'd it a-new;
No looking-glafs feem'd half so true.
A lady came; with borrow'd grace
He from his Venus form'd her face.
Her lover prais'd the Painter's art;
So like the picture in his heart!
To every age fome charm he lent;
Ev'n beauties were almoft content.

55

бо

Through all the town his art they prais'd;

65

His cuftom grew, his price was rais'd.

Had he the real likenefs fhown,

Would any man the picture own?
But, when thus happily he wrought,
Each found the likenefs in his thought.

Thefe cannot bear an equal nigh,
But from fuperior merit fly.

They love the cellar's vulgar joke,

And lofe their hours in ale and smoke.
There o'er fome petty club prefide;
So poor, fo paltry, is their pride!

Nay, ev'n with fools whole nights will fit,
In hopes to be fupreme in wit.

If thefe can read, to these I write,
To fet their worth in trueft light.

A Lion-cub, of fordid mind,

Avoided all the lion kind;

Fond of applaufe, he fought the feafts
Of vulgar and ignoble beafts;

With affes all his time he spent,
Their club's perpetual prefident.

He caught their manners, looks, and airs;
An afs in every thing but ears!
If e'er his Highness meant a joke,
They grinn'd applause before he spoke;
But at each word what shouts of praise !
Good gods! how natural he brays!
Elate with flattery and conceit,
He feeks his royal fire's retreat;
Forward, and fond to fhow his parts,
His Highness brays; the Lion starts.
66 Puppy! that curs'd vociferation
Betrays thy life and conversation:
Coxcombs, an ever-noify race,
Are trumpets

of their own difgrace."

"Why